


Your Language is Poetry

by laceandgrace (thingsarequeer)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsarequeer/pseuds/laceandgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You love how it's only you that can make Jensen swear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Language is Poetry

You love how it’s only you that can make Jensen swear. 

It’s not like the task is easy though. It takes a great deal of pain-staking care. Just the right amount of pressure and tension during the day. Just enough of those insanely light touches that you give him during shoots that throws him off during intense dialogue and makes him look at you like he’s stripping off your clothing with his eyes. Lifting your arms to stretch just high enough over your head so that he can see that sliver of skin between the hem of a shirt and the top of worn jeans. Purposefully flashing him heated glances when you think no one’s looking and edging the tip of your tongue in the faintest trace over your lower lip. 

You smile to yourself when Jensen’s make up people bitch about him sweating too much. He only clicks his teeth in annoyance, tells them that it’s not his fault wardrobe has him wearing too many layers. 

But you can see past it. You know that the wheels are already turning in his mind. He’s already cursing you a thousand times over in the safety of his own thoughts. But he’ll never part his lips and actually let be verbalized. Not on set. He’s got a work ethic, he says. Treat your employers well, your directors better. Somewhere along you must have missed the lesson about how nice Southern boys don’t let loose like a sailor every time you hit your head on the Impala’s hood. But Jensen has the lesson down flat. He actually has the nerve every once in a while to frown mildly when you get too frustrated and let _Fuck_ slip out without a thought. It amuses you, makes you snort in mild humor when he’s so annoyed that he rolls his eyes. 

Because, _god_. He’s really _such_ a hypocrite. Even if you’re the only one who knows it. 

It’s amusing how you’re actually surprised when he shows up at your trailer during lunch. One minute you’re just sitting innocently and enjoying a random cheeseburger – because even Life is your fan girl and she just deals you the lucky lunch-of-your-choice card today. The next, Jensen’s hands are pressed palm-flat to the table on either side of you, his nose nuzzling that sensitive spot just below your jawline. 

“Such a goddamn _tease_ ,” he whispers, the tone sharp in a way that makes you glad you’re sitting down. His lips barely brush against skin that’s long been given to goosebumps. The little puff of hot breath against your throat makes you dig your fingers into the cheeseburger bun. It’s a wreck of a meal in seconds and the sadness of that thought makes you stare at it in woeful despair. He moves his head just slightly to consider it, causing a slight swell of cold air to come brush against the space on your neck he was occupying moments before. That voice is a low rumble against your ear when he speaks again. “Cheeseburger for me?” 

For some reason, you can’t answer. And that’s just not right. The goal of this isn’t to get your own words stuck in your throat. It’s to get those sinful lips to say something, anything that qualifies as dirty in your book. But it seems to have the opposite affect. Because you’re just silent and still, and since when does that happen? 

It’s a sharp breath that stings your own lungs when one calloused hand lifts up off from the table to cover your own and bring that cheeseburger to Jensen’s mouth. It’s a manly bite that he takes, not something dainty and feminine from Sandy or any other girl you might have dated back before you were fascinated by your co-star. And you like it. You like that he’s sharp and rough and masculine. Before your mind can go on any other tangents though, he’s firmly pulling the cheeseburger out of your grip and throwing it carelessly onto the table. And then silky warmth is drawing your thumb in, lavishing attention on it with knowing licks and the scrape of teeth that’s just not _enough_ to satisfy you. 

You’ve always found it slightly fascinating how that single part of you can seem like the most sensitive part in one second flat. The skin that keeps you from burning your hand in a flame – that helps you feel the cool metal of a gun while shooting and just know that you look so damn badass – seems to not be reliable in keeping you from practically becoming a slave to whatever Jensen wants. He’s just working to your index finger with those sinful lips when you let your head fall back against his shoulder and don’t even bother to keep the faint groan somewhere in your stomach. 

Damn. You’re so hard, and he’s sworn a grand total of one time. 

“ _F-fuck_ ,” you finally manage to choke out, curling your middle finger around the heat and stroke of that silky tongue. “Jensen, damn…Wh-what… _Nngh_.” 

A rumbling laugh vibrates from his chest into your back just as he releases your hand from its torture. Then he’s leaning over you again, warm, hot lips pressed against the shell of your ear and whispering the filth of heaven for only you to hear. “S’what you get for being a tease, Jay.” Another ragged, broken breath of air and then, “But _fuck_? I like that idea. Gonna fuck you so hard, Jay. Gonna push and push. Make it so good that you can’t even scream or _breathe_.” 

He’s using _fuck_ like a verb instead of an exclamation. In your book, that doesn’t count as even half of an oath, so you figure you’ll probably have to push him harder. Just that extra bit until all that cursing you can feel in his body heat comes streaming out of his mouth without any restrictions. But for now you’re satisfied that his voice has taken on that particular drawling growl that only comes right before sex or after too many shots of tequila. 

_Or both_ , you suppose as an afterthought, as you try desperately to keep your head above the rising tide of desire that’s overflowing the blood in your veins. He’s busy leaving a visible mark with his lips and teeth right over that place where your pulse beats. At least one of your hands likes to be busy at all times, and it moves behind you to skate lightly up the back of one of Jensen’s thighs and playfully squeeze that ass. Because that ass is _yours_ to touch. He’s said so numerous times, and damn yourself to hell if you don’t take advantage of it, right? Jensen growls, bites down hard enough to make you shudder and shamelessly shove the heel of your hand against your hard-on. 

He chuckles, the sound vibrating hard against your skin and making your eyelids flutter open and closed unpredictably. “That’s the way then, huh?” One of his calloused palms shapes itself over your own hand, helps you to push down and makes you inhale a shaky breath. He uses his other hand to scrape blunt fingernails gently over the material of your t-shirt – _Sam’s_ t-shirt. And _oh god_ , has that got you thinking on all sorts of levels that are wrong. You can’t help it. Your hips jerk into that combined contact of his hand and your own. 

“ _Damn_ , Jared.” It’s not loud, and scarce seconds away from being restrained. But it slips past his lips in little more than a breath. A breath into your ear, and you keen somewhere high in your throat, trying to keep the room from just flying out into oblivion. He pushes down with that hand one more time, has your hips bucking and your back arching uncomfortably in the chair. “ _Fuck_. Want you so bad.” 

“Then stop just talking about it and –” Another cry of breathless delight that breaks what you’re saying with the simple curve of those rough fingers. “Please, Jen...Oh go – _oh god. M’gonna_ ….Not _yet_ , Jen. St-stop…Fuck _yes_.” You can feel your face flushing, darkening in its tint, because goddamn. Jensen can do that to you for some reason. You’re right before that point where you start babbling incoherently, but for now you can still keep track of what you’re saying. You can still beg him to stop. Beg him to let you actually participate instead of just being the person whose getting touched and taking everything. 

It’s that desperation for even a splinter of control that gives you the energy in your otherwise boneless limbs to dig long fingers into his short hair and haul his head down to just kiss you. And kiss you he does. He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, because you _are_ his fucking world. All slow, gentle licks against the roof of your mouth and over your teeth, and tender nips on the swollen flesh of your lower lip. It’s thoughts and touches and gasps like this that makes your stomach settle into something heavy and resigned. This is it. This is just the way of things now, and you try to reconcile with it like you do every time Jensen touches you. 

_Mine_ , he mouths lazily against your lips. _Yours_ , you write back with every sharply-inhaled breath. He squeezes down South just one more time before pulling back, grasping your wrist with fingers that have too-dry skin on the tips. It rasps against your skin, but in a good way. And it’s not like you’re paying much attention to that anyway. Not when he’s raking his gaze over you from head to foot and burning you with that expression that clearly says, _Come to bed now_. You leave the chair at his insistent tug on your wrist, let him coax you with kisses that still vaguely taste of cheeseburgers and coca-cola against your tongue. 

You’re so used to being slammed or slamming Jensen against the nearest flat surface that it still surprises you sometimes when you both fall back onto bedding and mattresses. Whatever feels unnatural about it fades though…About as soon as Jensen leans in to kiss you again, you figure, his lips slowly moving over your own and his hands lazily stroking, caressing, _feeling_ expanses of skin underneath your shirt until you think you’re just falling further down into the bed and wouldn’t mind staying that way. 

It seems like hours and hours before he’s tugging on the hem of your t-shirt, begging it off over your head and tossing his own button-up shirt somewhere on the floor too. It’s almost hilarious how you both have to stare at each for a full minute… _still_. Even after all this time of knowing and being known. Your touch is always first, reverent and worshipful brushes of the knuckles over his stomach as he squirms and fights back the snorts of sensitivity. 

So ticklish, damn him. 

He doesn’t let you at it for long either, the son of a bitch. He likes to get right down to work, dipping that blonde head of hair and running that first, timid brush of tongue over one of your overly sensitive nipples. You groan, knees locking almost instantly and fingers threading themselves into his hair, stroking the short stubble that’s left on his jaw for Dean’s character. A sharp nip and your back arches almost painfully, seeking more of that warm, heated contact that should just be _illegal_ because of how good it feels. Your groan is wordless, doesn’t mean a damn thing, but you can feel his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Just like that, Jay?” 

You blink to clear your vision, staring up at the trailer ceiling while trying to get your breathing to even out just the slightest bit. “Y-yeah,” comes out thick and low, your voice cracking in that way that lets him know. A hot breath where his mouth was and then he’s straddling you, fingers working idly to loosen the button and zipper on your pants. His expression is one of interest, watching your face too closely when his fingers slip beneath the waist band of your boxers. Your eyes roll back of their own volition and your head falls back against the pillow. “Holy _fuck_ , Jen. Stop unless –”

“Lube?” he asks almost casually. It would sound completely normal if his breathing didn’t sound slightly strained. He squeezes particularly hard – hard enough to punctuate the question and make you thrust viciously into his fist. 

“I…Oh _god_. Jen, I…” 

He strokes you from root to tip, pulling his hand off after a moment to push the rest of your clothing down around your feet where you can kick it off as nothing more than a bothersome barrier to what you both want. His jeans feel rough against the skin of your thighs as he moves back up to chew hard on your lower lip. “Need the lube, Jay.” 

“Cabinet,” you finally manage to gasp out faintly as his tongue snakes out to run soothingly over your lips and quiet the soft moans that are just pouring from your throat. You tug his head down one more time, kiss him for all your worth and smile a little when he groans far back in his throat and murmurs a quiet _damn_ against your lips. 

Bingo. 

It’s all downhill from there. He’s swearing on everything when he has to pull himself from the bed. He lets out a few mumbled curses when he can’t find the lube with hazy eyes for a few seconds. A particularly painful oath breaks the air in the trailer sharply when he pulls off the rest of his clothing and rough jeans drag over an impossibly hard erection. He’s back on the bed in seconds, hovering and squirming over you until he can settle into that perfect position between your legs. It’s all so natural for the both of you now. Doesn’t really matter who’s on top or bottom, because you both just _know_ it all instinctively. 

He leans over again to press a torturously light kiss to your lips, nipping with teeth that graze gently while he squirts lube on his fingers and carefully spreads it with his thumb. The fingers on his other hand press gently into the delicate, pale skin on one of your thighs. “Gonna make you mine.” 

“Already yours,” you gasp, hips arching into the feeling of that first finger hovering just over your opening. “ _C’mon_ , Jen. Please.” 

And then there’s that burning, invasive pleasure that has you gasping sharply when he does exactly what you want. You strain for a minute, hands finding his shoulders and clinging with nails digging into freckled skin as he twists inside of you and adds another finger. When he speaks again, his voice is low, husky, pure sex. “Talk to me, baby. Need you to breathe.” 

You do, inhaling shakily and pressing your hips further down on those two fingers that are stretching you wide, making you want and fucking _vulnerable_. “C-can’t think, Jen. God…” Your forehead screws up, your mouth falling open as you just gasp and gasp for air that seems to be fighting against the pressure that’s burning you up from the inside out. Jensen’s finger shifts and brushes against something inside that makes your muscles lock and your whole body shake. “Right there, Jen. Right fucking _there_.” He hits the spot again, sends pleasure lacing through every single part of you and makes you cry out so loud you’re sure everyone can hear it outside. 

He’s there in a moment, his lips covering yours in a soothing rush of honeyed sweetness. Those gentle fingers pull out and lace with your own. The blunt feeling of hard, hot cock presses up between your thighs and makes you spread wider for him. “Mine,” he groans, jerking his hips in one sharp motion that has him inside of you and around you and _oh god_. “All fucking _mine_.” One of your legs twines around his waist out of habit, pressing you down harder on his cock and pulling a strangled groan from deep in his throat. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. So damn tight.” 

You just pant in response, letting your fingers drift over the bumps of his spine and connect freckles without even having to look. Because hell. You’ve memorized their pattern over so many nights of staring at his sleeping form. The touch is always enough to wake him from whatever it is that seizes him. You feel his characteristic shudder and then that second snap of the hips that has your head falling back onto the pillow and your throat straining to make noise. But then he’s moving again before the cry even gets past your chest, and he’s hitting that spot again. When he jerks his hips again, so hard this time that it rocks the damn bed, you push back with so much force that you’re both groaning too loudly. 

“Damn, Jay,” he pants, one hand coming between the both of you to stroke your cock in a way that’s still so amazingly lazy and gentle for how tense his shoulders feel under your fingers at the moment. You don’t know how he can do it, but it’s not like you’re going to complain either, because hell. The heady combination of being steadily, firmly, _possessively_ fucked and the feeling of fingers that are just calloused enough to be perfect is too much to be able to keep thoughts in a confirmable order. Everything becomes nothing more than a stream of _God, so perfect…Don’t fucking stop, can’t even thin – oh god right there, do it again…don’t you stop. Don’t you fucking stop, Jen…_

You’re both writhing and moaning and taking and giving too much by the time Jensen’s gaze and voice get desperate. He strokes more firmly, practically rams into you as he chokes out, “Please, Jay. C’mon, baby. Just let it…C’mon, Jared baby.” And then almost viciously as he leans over and bites down hard on your lower lip. “Come, Jared. Come _now_ , Jay.” 

That low, grating voice commanding – no, _demanding_ – that you come is too much. Every muscle locks in almost painful clarity. You choke out his name, with a rushed _Jen, M’gonna_ – And then you’re not even trying to hold it back anymore as your vision bursts into something like starry night skies and you release in white, hot spurts across Jensen’s fingers. Something distant in your mind registers muscles clamping down hard on Jensen and a strangled groan of _Fuck, Jay_ rumbles against your ear. He rides out both of your orgasms in short, sharp thrusts, breathing hard against your ear and finally collapsing in a sweaty heap on top of you. 

“Sssshh,” you breathe into his ear, fingers finding the small of his back and pressing into the sweaty skin there. You’re both trembling and hot, his face pressed into the curve of your throat and your head thrown back against the pillows gasping for the breath that will just slow your heartbeat down. 

You breathe as one until he rolls away slowly, pulling out in a way that makes you wince and grin like a fucking love-struck girl in succeeding seconds. He stretches out beside you, fingers lacing with yours as he says in a voice that sounds intensely satisfied, “ _That_ will teach you to tease me.” 

A lazy smile curves your lips upward and you respond slyly, “ _Fuck_ yes.” 

The way he purses his lips and rolls his eyes makes you laugh until your sides are sore.


End file.
